


Each Pumpkin History

by Siria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, come on," Stiles said. He stretched out a foot and prodded Derek in the thigh. "You can't <i>not</i> have a favourite. That's un-American or something, dude."</p>
<p>"Yes," Derek said drily, turning his attention back to the book that he held in one hand while grabbing hold of Stiles' foot with the other. "That bit of the Pledge of Allegiance that everyone forgets."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each Pumpkin History

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sheafrotherdon for betaing.

"Oh, come on," Stiles said. He stretched out a foot and prodded Derek in the thigh. "You can't _not_ have a favourite. That's un-American or something, dude."

"Yes," Derek said drily, turning his attention back to the book that he held in one hand while grabbing hold of Stiles' foot with the other. "That bit of the Pledge of Allegiance that everyone forgets."

Stiles wiggled his foot in Derek's grasp. "Ugh, literal."

"Pretty sure that was more sarcastic than literal-minded," Derek said. 

"You're the worst," Stiles said, then snorted out a half-laugh, jerking his foot away when Derek ran his fingertips along the ticklish sole. "No fair!"

Derek stuck a bookmark in the novel to keep his place, and then set it down on the arm of the sofa. "It's not that big a deal."

"But you know what _mine_ is," Stiles said.

"It's hard not to." Derek cocked an eyebrow. "You're wearing a t-shirt with the logo on it right now."

"That is not the point," Stiles said. 

"You want _me_ to be wearing your t-shirt right now?"

"Super awesome as the idea of you wearing my clothing usually is," Stiles said, "and on a related topic, as much as we all still give thanks for the night of April 17, and by 'we' I mean me and Little Stiles—"

"Jesus."

"—that is definitely you going with the obtuse literal-minded stuff this time, with maybe a smidge of sarcasm thrown in for good measure." Stiles held up thumb and forefinger, barely touching. 

Derek stared at him. "Why are you so invested in finding out what my favourite TV show is?"

"It's not the TV show per se," Stiles said. "It's just, I was doing research—"

Derek frowned. "Into what?" They hadn't had any trouble to speak of in months, not in Beacon Hills and not on Stiles' and Scott's campus—and even then it had just been a heavily pregnant griffin looking to nest, nothing serious. 

"Okay, so it wasn't _me_ doing the initial research," Stiles said. "It was Malia, she—"

"Malia was doing research?" Derek broke in, incredulous. She'd pulled her grades up some by the end of high school, but there was a reason why she'd decided not to go to college. 

"Well, I say research," Stiles said, picking at the hem of his t-shirt. "She was reading an issue of _Cosmo_."

" _Malia_ was reading _Cosmo_? My cousin Malia? For _research_?"

Stiles waved a hand. "Mysterious are the stake-out methods of professional bounty hunters unto the Stiles. Anyway, I think she was mostly interested in the article on ten new ways to give a blowjob—"

Derek's Saturday afternoon just kept getting weirder. All he'd wanted to do was finish his book so he could return it to the library before it closed, maybe make soup out of the leftovers in the fridge. Now this. "There are ten ways to give a blowjob?"

"More than ten ways, is the implication," Stiles said thoughtfully. "Which did make me curious a bit, because there's me doing you, you doing me, sixty-nining, and then what, me doing you with my fingers in your ass? That's where it seemed to be getting a bit hair-splitting. Blow-job semantics, no one's ideas of a fun time. But she's dating an incubus right now so I guess she wants to add some tricks to the old repertoire? But the very first tip was about using a scrunchie—"

"A _scrunchie_?"

"Yeah, you know, those elasticky things with the fabric on them that girls use in their hair?"

"I know what a scrunchie is, Stiles. You want to put one on my dick?"

"No, I personally do not want that. _Cosmo_ wants that, but I reject them and all their freaky wiles. Well, not blowjobs in general—"

"Stiles."

"—Because I have a hella good relationship with your penis." Stiles laced his fingers together and rested his hands on his belly, a smug smile on his face. "Case in point, last night."

"What does any of this," Derek said slowly, with what he thought was surpassing patience, "have to do with whether or not I have a favourite TV show?"

"Well, I read the bee jay article, because duh," Stiles said, "and then after that was this really good smoothie recipe? And then there was another article about how to make sure you've got a strong relationship—"

Derek let his head fall back against the sofa and closed his eyes. 

"—And one of the things they said was, make sure you know the little things about your significant other." He nudged Derek's thigh again with his foot. "Like what their favourite TV show is. And I realised that I don't know what yours is. Sure I know how you take your coffee, but there's a whole tonne of other shit I don't know about you. Like, what was your mom's name before she got married? What was your favourite college course? Who's your celebrity crush? What," Stiles said, his eyes suddenly narrowing, "are your condiment preferences?"

"You realise that you're taking relationship advice from a magazine that thinks you should use a hair tie as a cock ring?" Derek asked, before sighing at the mulish expression on Stiles' face. "Fine. Mustard, I guess. Sriracha, but not as much as Erica uses it."

"Who could? Boyd says she said she chugged it straight from the bottle once," Stiles said fervently. "I'd believe it."

"Celebrity crush…" Derek cocked his head, considered. "Gina Torres."

"I would give you a free pass on that one," Stiles said, holding his hand out for a high five. "No need to apologise, no need to explain."

"Favourite course in college was one I took on French lit. It wasn't for my major but the professor was really great and pushed us hard. And my mom's name was always Hale—traditionally, a man who marries into a werewolf pack takes his wife's name. Dad took my mom's name, so we were all Hales. Peter married a human, so that's why he kept his own name."

"Whoa, wait, matriarchal werewolves?"

Derek shot him a look. "You managed to get a full ride to Berkeley and you're somehow only figuring this out now?"

"In my defence, most of my werewolf-related interactions have involved trying not to be killed. Or if the werewolf is Scott, trying not to be killed and seeing who can fit the most Twizzlers into their mouth at once. Or if the werewolf is _you_ , trying not to be killed and parsing some mixed signals and making out—"

"My signals weren't mixed."

"Uh, not once you learned how to use your words. But before that it was kind of touch and go, big guy. There was your self-denial, there was your classic pining, there were puppy dog eyes both literal and metaphorical before you did the whole…" Stiles waggled a hand in the air. "Rom-com revelation thing."

Derek huffed. "I thought you were going to pick Chicago, okay?"

"No, Stiles," Stiles said, putting on a weird voice than in no way sounded anything like Derek, "you go on without me. I'll fill my lonely days somehow with brooding, and melancholy literature, and pre-distressing all my henleys."

Derek moved, flipping them so that Stiles was pressed up against the back of the sofa and Derek was straddling him. They were both dressed for a lazy weekend—t-shirts, old sweatpants—and the feel of Stiles' hips shifting against his through the thin cotton made Derek shiver. "You know why I'm not a big fan of TV?" he asked, leaning in and pressing his nose to the curve of Stiles' throat. 

"Uh, well. I have a feeling you're going to enlighten me." Stiles' hands came up to rest on Derek's back, broad palms splayed out along his spine. 

"Werewolves rely on smell to understand people just as much as we do their words and their expressions." Derek inhaled deeply, rubbed his stubble against Stiles' smooth skin. "Maybe even more. TV or movies are weird for us. It's like you're being told you're getting a whole conversation but you can only hear one side of it."

"I _see_ ," Stiles said. His fingertips dug into Derek's back; he cleared his throat. "So right now, this conversation…"

Derek breathed in again, and smiled. "You're being pretty loud."

"Oh man," Stiles said, "I think I'm getting a boner about the way that I'm getting a boner. I have a _meta erection_ , Derek."

Derek pulled back enough to fix Stiles with his most earnest expression. "You know, I've heard a scrunchie could help with that," he said, and laughed when Stiles tackled him off the couch.


End file.
